Safe in your Arms
by Imaginethat27
Summary: John Watson has seen and been through a lot in his life. But he never expected to find himself with the responsibility of caring for an intellectual, curly haired toddler, who bears a strange resemblance to a certain socipathic consulting detective... (Kid!lock)
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Hello! Well, this is my first attempt at fanfiction, so I hope this is alright! I am writing for your enjoyment, so please feel free to leave a review or give any form of feedback!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any form of Sherlock. All rights go to the writers (Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss) and the BBC.**

As a child, Sherlock had never felt particularly loved. His parents were not abusive to him; they just weren't around enough to be his support. His only way of friendship was with his brother Mycroft, who had been his caregiver ever since Sherlock was old enough to recognise his features.

Sherlock noted that John appeared to have had a happier childhood. Despite his sister's drinking in her teens, John's family had obviously been supportive of him and looked after him well. He had been given the freedom to live his life as he wished, and he had obviously been liked at school.

Just on occasion, Sherlock wished he could turn the clock back and live as a child again. To understand the caring and comfort that John had felt.

On one occasion Sherlock was trudging home from Scotland Yard. His right hand was aching after he had signed an incredible array of paperwork. He somehow managed to pull himself up the stairs of 221B, his eyes drooping, longing for a cup of tea and bed rest after at least a week of sleepless nights.

But sleep wasn't looking to be a distinct possibility. When he entered the flat, he saw Mycroft sitting down by the sofa, deep in conversation with John.

Sherlock groaned outwardly. Mycroft lifted his head and smiled.

"Hello Brother" he grinned.

Sherlock flopped down on the sofa and grabbed his violin, plucking several strings.

"Leave" he muttered, his mind entering the world of his music.

"Sherlock, be nice" John shook his head "I'm sorry Mycroft."

"Now John, you must not apologise on account of my brother's behaviour" Mycroft nodded "Sherlock, I am here to discuss a business matter with you."

"Well be quick about it" Sherlock plucked another string "I'd like to go to bed."

"Now there's a first" John muttered, a smile tracing his lips. Sherlock glared at him.

"Well, out with it Mycroft, what do you want to discuss?"

Mycroft straightened his tie "well Sherlock, my scientists have seemingly discovered a formula with the ability on completing the TARDIS effect."

"The TARDIS effect?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, the Time And Relative Dimension in Space" Mycroft nodded "my scientists believe they have discovered the solution for turning back the clock on a person's age."

Sherlock stopped plucking his violin "you've what?"

"Found a way to reverse a person's age" Mycroft nodded.

"John was listening intently now as well "you mean you can turn a 90 year old into a baby!?"

Mycroft nodded "it is a complicated procedure, ten years in the making. We're still only at the finalised processing. I've been doing enough chemical defect transitions this past week to last a lifetime."

"And how does one administer this solution?" Sherlock questioned.

"If you must know, it is currently in a liquid form." Mycroft answered "but we cannot currently hand it over to the public."

"Why not?!" Sherlock gasped.

Mycroft and John both jumped "why are you so fascinated by this Sherlock?" Mycroft questioned.

"Mycroft, we are talking about meddling with time and space dimensions to physically and mentally age a person, naturally I am fascinated with this theory" Sherlock answered "now tell me why no one can use it."

"Because it could be dangerous" Mycroft answered "if we put too much into a person, they could be erased from existence altogether."

"Then may I question why you are telling me all of this?" Sherlock asked.

"Because apparently I must verify two witnesses should our experiments go wrong" Mycroft answered "should something go awry, I need witness to state that this was a legalised government experiment which I understood and partook in at my will."

John nodded "of course we'll sign Mycroft."

Sherlock shrugged and set down his violin. Mycroft pulled out several papers from his coat and handed them to John. After John had read through them (as slowly as he could, thought Sherlock) and signed, he handed the papers to Sherlock, who snatched them and signed.

"Will that be all?" he questioned.

"That will suffice efficiently" Mycroft nodded "goodbye John, enjoy your sleep Sherlock."

Sherlock watched as Mycroft slipped out of the door. John turned to Sherlock.

"You couldn't be a little bit more polite could you?"

Sherlock picked up his violin and dragged the bow across the strings. John winced at the noise, before picking himself up and making his way to his room.

As he disappeared, Sherlock continued to play incoherent nonsense on the strings of the violin. But his mind wasn't on the music.

To turn back the clock…

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was a man who was used to not getting enough sleep. But even he couldn't help but complain at being awoken at 2:30 in the morning. He picked up his mobile which lay aside his bed, and put on his best wide awake voice.

"Good Morning, to whom am I speaking?"

"Mycroft, it's John" he heard a gasp down the line "I've got a problem."

"And what sort of problem John?" Mycroft asked rubbing his eyes.

"It's Sherlock" John replied "he's gone. The front door's been left open, just a crack. Mycroft, I have a feeling that he's…"

Mycroft fitted the pieces together "I'll send a car along as soon as I can" he snapped into action, before jumping up and rushing to his wardrobe to find his clothes.

Before long, he and John were hurtling through London towards Mycroft's government labs.

"He wanted us to find him" Mycroft nodded "he left the door open as a clue. And if we're right…"

The car pulled up outside the labs. As soon as it pulled to a stop Mycroft and John jumped out and raced towards the door. Mycroft swiped his security pass and upheld to an eye scan before he raced through the doors. John raced after him as quickly as he could. The pair had to stop six more times to be cleared through varying tests, before they burst into the main lab.

"This is where we have been performing the experiments" Mycroft explained "now, if we're correct…"

A sudden wail broke out through the room. Mycroft flicked on the lights, revealing an array of lab testing equipment and expensive machines. But Mycroft and John's eyes went only to the display on the floor.

On the cold floor in front of them lay an array of clothes. A long black coat, a blue scarf, a purple shirt and a pair of pressed pants…

And in the middle of them sat a naked child who couldn't have been more than two years old. They had an array of black curls and stunning grey-blue eyes, which tears were currently leaking out of.

John bent down and picked up the little boy, who huddled into John's arms and wept.

"Oh Sherlock" John gasped "my God Sherlock, what on earth have you done?"

Mycroft reached down onto the floor and picked up a disposable syringe. He faced John grimly "according to this, he has administered 20mls" Mycroft grimaced "he's two years old again John."

"20mls turned him into a two year old?" John gasped, but then lowered his voice when Sherlock whined in his arms "ssh Sherlock, it's alright, don't cry…" he stroked Sherlock's black curls as tears soaked the shoulder of his jumper.

"Tummy hurts…" Sherlock stuttered. John turned to Mycroft, his face a mask of concern.

"It's a common side effect" Mycroft nodded "he should be alright in a few hours…"

"Alright?" John shook his head "Mycroft, he's two years old! We have to change him back now!"

"There is no antidote" Mycroft sighed "it hasn't been completed yet."

"You mean he'll have to grow up all over again?" John gasped.

"Under no terms" Mycroft announced "I will see to it that an antidote is made. Until then, I'm afraid you must look after him John."

"Me?!" John gaped "but Mycroft, I couldn't…"

"I'm afraid I cannot volunteer for the duty" Mycroft shrugged "not if I am to complete the antidote."

John gently stroked Sherlock's curls "alright" he agreed softly "I'll do my best."

"I will provide assistance in any way possible" Mycroft nodded "I shall try and create the antidote quickly, so that you may return to your daily lifestyle."

John nodded "thank you Mycroft. How long do you think it will take to create the antidote?"

"Well… maybe six months?"

"SIX MONTHS?" John yelled. Sherlock wailed in his arms, so John resumed gently stroking his hair.

"I'm afraid that is how long the procedure will take" Mycroft grimaced "and that's if we work fast."

John sighed and nodded "I'll do my best to look after him Mycroft."

"I have no doubt you will do a good job John" Mycroft nodded "I will drive you back to 221B, but let's stop by my home first. Mother stored our old clothing up in the attic, I'm sure we can find something for Sherlock."

John nodded, before the three made their way out of the lab. John looked down at the gently snuffling Sherlock in his arms.

The next six months were going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

When John finally arrived back at 221B, he took Sherlock straight to the living room and set him down on the couch. Mycroft followed and stood in the doorway of the flat. Sherlock moaned softly, tears still leaking out of his big, blue eyes.

John gently ran a hand through Sherlock's curls again "Sherlock…" John hesitated "do you know who I am?"

Sherlock managed to shake his head.

"Sherlock… my name is John. John Watson?" John tried to see if Sherlock would remember him.

"Ah John" Mycroft nodded "I forgot to mention. Sherlock will not have any memories from his life before taking the antidote. He will only remember the life he knew as a two year old."

John nodded, understanding "do you remember Mycroft Sherlock?"

"Mycwoft!" Sherlock nodded.

"He occasionally had a lisp as a child" Mycroft nodded "I assumed he would remember me."

Mycroft stepped swiftly over and knelt down in front of the couch "Sherlock, this is Mycroft Holmes. Your older brother" Sherlock nodded and reached out for Mycroft, who lifted him up and held him close to his chest.

"The gentleman alongside me is John Watson. You must understand that he is your friend, and that you are to treat him with the respect he deserves. Am I making myself clear Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock nodded sadly, still clutching at his stomach.

"Are you feeling sick?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock gave a feeble nod, before he clutched Mycroft's chest and burst into tears again. John's heart clutched against his chest at the sound. He knew how much the adult Sherlock hated to cry.

Mycroft softly hushed Sherlock, before gently placing him back down on the sofa "Sherlock, John here is a doctor, so he is very experienced in looking after sick children alright? He's going to be looking after you for a while, ok?"

Sherlock nodded, before reaching out his arms again, this time to John. He knelt down before picking Sherlock up and cradling him close.

"There now" he cooed "it's alright…" he sat down on the sofa next to Mycroft. John hushed and cooed as Sherlock cried, still gently rubbing his back. Eventually though, Sherlock's sobs lessened and his breathing edged out. His breath hitched once in a tiny sigh, before evening out and calming down. John quickly realised Sherlock had fallen asleep.

Mycroft stood up "if you have any problems or there are complications with the formula, don't hesitate to call me."

John nodded as Mycroft showed himself out, gently closing the door behind him. He then repositioned himself so that he was lying flat on the couch, Sherlock resting on his stomach.

John sighed and again resumed running his hands through Sherlock's hair (it seemed particularly good for calming the toddler) as Sherlock slept comfortably on his stomach.

It wasn't long before John was also asleep, still cradling the toddler in his arms as the night passed.


	3. Chapter 3

When John awoke the next morning, he found himself with a stiff neck from lying on the couch all night and a little Sherlock on his stomach. John watched as Sherlock stirred and awoke, blinking blearily at John.

"Morning Sherlock" John grinned "sleep well?"

Sherlock nodded, playing with John's shirt buttons "John?" he asked quietly, as though he was unsure of something.

"Yes Sherlock?" John smiled gently "what can I get you?"

"Hungwy…" Sherlock mumbled softly.

John grinned "well, why don't we go and have a little poke around the kitchen then?"

Sherlock nodded, smiling broadly. John picked him up and brought him over to the kitchen, before he realised that Sherlock's experiments were all over the place. Making a mental note to clean the place up, he set Sherlock back down on the sofa, before checking there was nothing hazardous in the kettle.

Not too long after, he managed to come up with some toast and jam, a cup of tea for him and a glass of milk for Sherlock.

"Are you ok with drinking from a glass?" John asked, noting that some children had difficulties with that task. But Sherlock was perfectly capable, which impressed John greatly. He wasn't even sure if he could do that as a two year old.

Whilst the pair was eating, the door swung open and Mrs Hudson stepped in.

"Hello John dearie, I was wondering if you had any…" she was brought to an abrupt stop when she saw Sherlock. When she suddenly shrieked fell backwards, John jumped up to catch her.

"Mrs Hudson!" he called, holding her upright as Sherlock looked on in interest "it's ok, I can explain!"

Mrs Hudson let him lead her over to a chair, where John began explaining the situation.

"So…" Mrs Hudson summarised "Sherlock has been reduced in age through the premise of one of Mycroft's new drugs?"

"That's right" John nodded 'and until we've worked out an antidote, I'm afraid he'll be stuck like this."

Mrs Hudson nodded "is there anything you need me to go and pick up for you?"

John turned to Sherlock "um… Sherlock, how do you go about… using the bathroom?"

Sherlock gave him a look as though to say "I'm two years old, why are you asking me if I can use the bathroom?"

"Right, just checking" John blushed "well… I think we're all ok right now, I'll need to go shopping soon obviously, but Sherlock seems happy with his current bed and his clothes, so he should be preoccupied for a while before we get him some new ones."

Mrs Hudson nodded "well, if I can help, just let me know."

John smiled and hugged her around the shoulder "will do Mrs Hudson" he grinned.

Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock "I'm sorry if I scared you Sherlock dearie, this is all… well, a bit of a shock."

Sherlock swallowed his mouthful of toast "it's ok, are you our housekeeper?"

John gave Sherlock a look as to say _'don't even go there' _but Mrs Hudson laughed.

"Not your housekeeper dearie!" Mrs Hudson smiled, gently ruffling Sherlock's curls "I'll see you soon John!"

"Bye Mrs Hudson!" John laughed as she made her way out the door. Sherlock put down his glass, staring up at John expectantly.

"What can I do for you Sherlock?" John questioned.

"Can we go out somewhere?" Sherlock asked, his voice hopeful "it's boring just staying inside!"

"Well…" an idea sprung into John's head "grab your coat Sherlock, I've got the perfect place."

"Where is it?"

"Wait and see!"


	4. Chapter 4

John led Sherlock out of 221B. The air was chilly, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He was busy nattering on to John about all sorts of things which interested him, in which time John was more than happy to lend an ear.

Eventually, the pair came to a park not far from Baker Street. John knew the place well, it was where he had bumped into Mike Stamford, and had been introduced to the adult Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock raced ahead of John, still calling back over his shoulder about 'Mycwoft' this, and 'Smurfs' that. When John pieced together what Sherlock was going on about, he nearly collapsed on the footpath in a fit of laughter.

After he had regained his composure, he had followed Sherlock to a playground. As it was a particularly cold day, there was nobody else about. Sherlock grabbed John's arm and manoeuvred him towards the swings.

"Will you push me John?" Sherlock asked, seating himself down.

John grinned, before stepping behind the swing "ready?"

"Ready!" Sherlock grinned happily. John gave him a flying head start, influenced by Sherlock's calls of 'higher John, higher!'

"John, I can almost touch the sun!" Sherlock cried happily "look John!"

John looked, and marvelled at Sherlock's enjoyment. Eventually, Sherlock grew tired of the swings, so he hopped off and raced towards the pond.

"Look John, look at the ducks!" Sherlock grinned.

John smiled, before getting an idea "Sherlock, have you ever made a paper boat?"

Sherlock shook his head, eyes filled with curiosity.

"Well, then let me teach you" John nodded.

John bought a newspaper from a nearby street vendor, before bringing it back to Sherlock. He then showed Sherlock how to fold the newspaper into a boat shape. In the end, there was a neat boat and a wonky boat side by side.

Sherlock was incredibly proud "can we sail them John?!" he jumped up and down.

"Of course!" John smiled "but first, I reckon the Captain needs his hat…" and with those words, he fashioned a pirate hat out of newspaper.

Sherlock's eyes lit up "for me?" he gasped.

"I don't see another Pirate Captain around here" John nodded happily.

Sherlock hugged John tightly, before placing the hat on his head and setting his boat out to sail alongside John's.

The pair ran around the perimeter of the pond, catching the boats as they hit the opposite end. They raced their boats for well over an hour, until the finally collapsed, exhausted, onto the grass nearby.

John lay next to Sherlock, staring up at the clouds in fascination. His mind formed amazing images in the array of clouds which drifted slowly by over his head.

"Look Sherlock, do you see dog?"

Sherlock sat up and looked around "whereabouts John?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I mean in the clouds" John nodded "it's a game I play sometimes, where you have to find a shape in the clouds."

Sherlock got John to point out the shape of the dog three times before his imagination caught hold.

"Oh I see! There's the tail, and the legs…"

"That's right!" John's grinned "and… can you see the dragon?"

"Yes! And look John, there's the Empire State Building!"

"And how about that spaceship Sherlock, do you think there are aliens hiding aboard?"

"Oh, look John! I see an Erinaceinae!"

John's head snapped up "a what?!"

"An Erin-ace-in-ae" Sherlock spelt out.

"What on earth is that?"

"A hedgehog!" Sherlock rolled his eyes "and I also see a Lutrinae."

"And what might that be?"

"An otter!"

John was astounded "and where might you have learned all of those names?"

"From one of Mycwoft's old school books. He was studying various animals, and he gave me the book when he was done."

John grinned and ruffled Sherlock's curls "well, that is astounding that a boy your age would know all that."

"Do you think so?" asked Sherlock eagerly.

"I know so" John smiled "you are a genius Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock hugged John tightly as the two sat, staring up at the clouds, each in their own perfect world.


	5. Chapter 5

All in all, having Sherlock around as a child was a fascinating experience for John. Not only was he clever, but he was also undeniably cute as a child.

The main problem John had was keeping him occupied. There was a part of Sherlock which demanded constant attention; something that John at first had trouble adjusting to.

An example would have been Monday morning, about a fortnight after Sherlock had first transformed into a toddler. John had been reading the paper, glad to have a moment to himself for the first time that day, when he heard an interesting commotion break out from across the room. Lifting his eyes over the top of the paper, his eyes came into line of sight with Sherlock, who was busy taking books off of the bookshelf and throwing them to the floor.

'What… hey!" John called "stop that right now Sherlock!"

Sherlock came to a halt, 'the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' poised in his hand. John set the paper down, before stepping over and taking the book from his grasp.

"We do not throw things in this house" John noted in a stern voice. Sherlock nodded, not quite making eye contact with John. John went back to his paper, and for a while there was silence in the flat.

Not long after though, John heard a quiet, tearing sound. He at first wondered if he had imagined it, but then he heard it again, and his mind left no room for doubt.

He stuck his head around the paper, to see Sherlock tearing the thin pages out of a dictionary.

"Sherlock Holmes!" John yelled "stop that right now!"

Sherlock brought himself to a halt, nervously eyeing John.

"You are not allowed to tear pages out of books here Sherlock, do I make myself clear?" John stood up and snatching the book from him.

Sherlock frowned "it's for an experiment!"

"I don't care" John shrugged "you're not allowed to tear pages out of books in this house."

Sherlock's frowned deepened. He stamped across the room, before taking John's paper and tearing it in half.

John raced over and tore the paper out of his grasp.

"What did I just say Sherlock?!" John yelled.

"Don't tear pages out of a book!" Sherlock yelled back "but that's not a book, that's a newspaper!"

"Oh don't be such a smart Alec!" John groaned "I asked you not to tear the pages out of things! I wish you would just listen to me Sherlock! Now, you're to go to your room and think about what you've done, do you understand?"

"I haven't done anything!" Sherlock's bottom lip trembled.

"It's not up for discussion Sherlock!" John yelled "room, now!"

Sherlock glared at him, before racing to his room and slamming the door.

John flopped down on the sofa and dropped his head in his hands. Why did Sherlock have to be so difficult? John had specifically told him not to…

Oh.

Sherlock was right. To Sherlock's mind, he probably hadn't been specific.

John groaned. Now he'd clearly upset Sherlock, and he had to go and fix it.

He went and knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door "Sherlock, can I come in?"

A muffled voice called out from the other side "no! Go away!"

"Sherlock?" John cautiously pushed open the door "Sherlock, please…"

He stopped. Sherlock was huddled on his bed, his grey blue eyes red rimmed, his cheeks red from crying. John felt his heart sink.

"Oh Sherlock…" John knelt down beside him "Sherlock I'm so sorry…"

"That's… injustice!" Sherlock gasped between his sobs.

John was confused "sorry, what?"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Sherlock cried.

John sighed and cautiously stroked his curls "I know Sherlock, I was wrong. I'm sorry for what I did, I didn't realise that you weren't being naughty."

Sherlock sniffed and wiped his eyes "really?"

"Yes" John smiled "I'm an idiot."

Sherlock gave a small smile "no you're not John, you're clever, really clever, the cleverest!"

John laughed "I'm not as clever as you Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock grinned "but you do come in close running second."

John laughed and hugged Sherlock.

"Is all forgiven?" John asked gently.

"Naturally" Sherlock replied, hugging John tighter.

John just smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Two things John had quickly worked out about Sherlock were 1) he needed to be entertained and 2) if he was refused entertainment, he would very quickly become bored, and that could often have disastrous results.

Thus, John was always working out interesting ways to entertain Sherlock. Cards, jigsaw puzzles and DVD's all had their rounds, but now John was practising with something he called 'Pen and Paper Games.'

These games involved things such as 'Tic Tac Toe,' 'Hangman' and 'the Scribble Game' which was Sherlock's favourite. One of them would make a scribble, and the other would have to turn it into something recognisable.

John was halfway through turning a particularly interesting scribble into a whale playing the clarinet, when Sherlock excused himself to go to the bathroom. While he was gone, the living room door burst open and Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and at least ten other officers came in.

Lestrade cleared his throat apologetically when he saw John "Sorry to burst in on you John" he nodded "but we had to do a 'drugs bust,' Sherlock wasn't answering his phone, is he…"

Suddenly Sherlock reappeared. He stopped dead when he saw the drugs squad, and the entire team's eyes (especially Lestrade's) grew enormous.

For a long time, there was silence in 221B, until Lestrade croaked out nervously "is… is that…?"

John nodded "it's a very long and complicated story" he shrugged "we're working on an antidote."

Anderson, who was as shocked as anyone else, spoke up "but… he's a kid!" he gasped "Sherlock's a kid… how is that even…?!"

"Brilliant deduction Anderson" John rolled his eyes, before turning to Lestrade "I'm surprised that Mycroft didn't try to explain it to you."

Lestrade shook his head "he hasn't come around at all" he murmured helplessly "Christ, I just can't believe…"

Sherlock wandered over to Lestrade and smiled shyly up at him "are you a police officer?"

Lestrade was surprised, but he nodded slowly "yes Sherlock… do you not remember who I am?"

Sherlock shook his head. John explained how Sherlock had no previous memories of his former life.

While he was explaining this, Sherlock wandered around, examining the members of the Met. When he got to Sally and Anderson, he sniffed. Then he sniffed again. And then he turned to John and exclaimed.

"John, John! That lady is wearing the same deodorant as that annoying man" Sherlock deduced excitedly, gesturing in Anderson's direction.

Anderson gave a strangled gasp, and Sally blushed furiously. Some of the Met stifled their giggles, knowing that if they laughed, they'd have to hear Anderson's nasally voice lecturing them.

John and Lestrade exchanged looks, also trying to keep their laughter on hold.

"Why are you wearing the same deodorant, isn't it for men?" Sherlock questioned.

Anderson was getting angry now "now look here Sherlock Holmes" he began "I really think…"

"And you've got kissing marks on your neck" Sherlock continued "oh! Is she your girlfriend?"

Both Sally and Anderson denied involvement, while the Met all rolled their eyes.

"You are, you are!" Sherlock laughed, jumping up and down "I worked it out!"

"Great deducing Sherlock" John smiled, scooping him up "but lay low for a while, they're clearly embarrassed."

Sherlock nodded "did I do a good job?"

Lestrade laughed "a fantastic job" he grinned; ruffling Sherlock's curls "you're a regular little detective aren't you?"

"I'm going to be a Pirate Detective when I grow up!" Sherlock grinned proudly, while some of the Met awed (well, he really was adorable).

"Really?" Lestrade asked kindly "what does a Pirate Detective do then?"

"Solve crimes at sea" Sherlock explained "that means I get to travel, and I get to solve crimes! And John's going to come with me, he promised!"

"Did you John?" Lestrade smiled "well, you'll both have to come and give me a hand sometimes…" he straightened up "but not today, clearly now's not a good time."

John smiled "I'm happy to help Lestrade" he murmured (while Sherlock was distracted by making faces at Anderson) but I'm not like Sherlock."

"Any medical examinations would be appreciated" Lestrade grinned "but I can see you've got your hands full right now, so I'll head off."

John grinned "good to see you again, best of luck!"

"I'm sure we'll manage" Lestrade grinned as he ushered the Met out, frowning at Anderson's half crossed eye expression (which was aimed at Sherlock, but seen by Lestrade instead) "see you later John!"

John called out his final goodbyes, before shutting the door behind him.

"Scribble game?" Sherlock questioned hopefully.

John grinned in return "let's go" he led Sherlock back to the sofa, where they continued the game peacefully.


	7. Chapter 7

It was raining. The rain had been falling in a steady beat for the whole day, and now Sherlock was sick of it. John hadn't been able to take him anywhere, he had been stuck indoors all day and he was _bored._

"John…" he whined from the window.

John looked up from his book "yes Sherlock?"

"I'm bored!" he cried "can we please go out?"

John sighed "I'm sorry Sherlock, but the weather's just too bad."

Sherlock sighed, shuffling over to the couch and flopping down next to John. John sighed and pulled Sherlock close to him.

"I've got an idea" he whispered into Sherlock's curls.

"What?" Sherlock sniffed.

"Why don't I tell you a story?" John smiled.

Sherlock's eyes lit up "alright!" he grinned, suddenly happy again.

"Alright…" John thought to himself, trying to come up with a good idea for a story.

"Alright…" he repeated "Once Upon a Time, there lived a fearless young Pirate Consultant known as Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock grinned happily "that's me!"

"That's right!" smiled John "and this Pirate Consultant had an assistant called First Mate John."

Sherlock grinned and fiddled with John's shirt "that's you!"

"And these two went sailing across all seven oceans, even discovering ones that had never been heard of. And one day, while they were out on a voyage, they came across a fearsome sea dragon known as Mycroft, who roared the most terrible roar in both of their faces."

Sherlock giggled at the vision of Mycroft as a sea monster. John continued "and John was very frightened of Mycroft, because he was terrified that Mycroft would eat them both up!"

"Did he?" Sherlock gasped.

"No, because Sherlock, being as brave as he was, stepped in and told Mycroft off for being horrible" John blushed, feeling as though that was a rather poor excuse of an escape.

Sherlock however, thought differently "yes! And then can Mycroft join their ship?"

"Yes, Mycroft became the first honorary sea monster aboard Sherlock's ship" John grinned.

"But then, while they were sailing, their ship was captured by rival pirates whose names were Sally and Anderson." John continued as Sherlock laughed outright "and they were jealous of First Mate John, because he got to be Sherlock's friend, so they kidnapped him and took him to a far off island, where the locked him away in a door less tower."

Sherlock gasped in horror "that's terrible!" he cried, clutching John tightly.

John smiled "but wait Sherlock, the story doesn't end there! When Sherlock heard that John had been imprisoned, he jumped on Mycroft's back and whizzed off to the island where John's tower was."

"When he arrived and found John's tower, he quickly discovered that there were no doors, and that there was no way in."

"So what did I do?" Sherlock asked eagerly.

"Well, Sherlock stood at the foot of the tower and called up 'John, oh John, let down your hair!'" John grinned and Sherlock burst out laughing.

"Unfortunately, my hair wasn't nearly long enough to reach the bottom of the tower, so Sherlock have to come up with another idea of entry."

"And just as Sherlock was thinking, a loud roar came from over the island, and suddenly a dragon named Lestrade appeared!" John cried.

Sherlock gasped in amazement "and then…?"

"Well, it turned out that Lestrade was quite a friendly dragon, so when Sherlock explained his situation, Lestrade offered to fly him up to the window. So Sherlock hopped up on his back and whizzed up to the window to visit John."

"John of course was overjoyed to see Sherlock, and soon the pair made their escape" John continued "on their way back to their ship, Lestrade helped them locate Sally and Anderson, and as soon as they found them, Lestrade picked them both up in his claws and took them to the tower, where they remain locked away for many years" John explained.

"And then?" asked Sherlock, glad that the villains had gotten what they had deserved.

"And then Mycroft and Lestrade took them back to their ship, where the four of them became a pirate team, and sailed the ocean, having endless adventures." John grinned, completing the story "The End."

Sherlock grinned and snuggled up further next to John "I liked that story" he whispered gently.

John smiled and hugged Sherlock close.

"So do I Sherlock, so do I."


	8. Chapter 8

John was awoken to the sound of a frightened yell, for once not one of his own. His head hit the back of his bed as he sat up, straining his ears to hear the sound again.

Another scream. Unmistakable. It was Sherlock…

John jumped up and raced towards the source of the noise, Sherlock's bedroom. Rushing inside, he found Sherlock, thrashing around in his bed and sobbing like there was no tomorrow. He was also asleep.

John ran towards him and shook him "Sherlock, Sherlock wake up!" he yelled.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and as soon as he saw John he buried his face in his shoulder. John felt a wet patch growing on his shirt.

"Sherlock…" he whispered "oh Sherlock, it's alright…"

"Scary!" Sherlock managed to choke out.

"What did you dream about?" John questioned gently.

"Bad man…" Sherlock sobbed "bad man in a suit…"

John froze.

"What… what did he do?" John questioned.

"Told me to jump!" Sherlock wept "we were at the top of a building, and he told me to jump off!"

John's heart was beating faster than before, his whole body turning to ice.

"…and then he took out a big gun and shot himself, and there was blood!" Sherlock cried "and I had to tell you that I had to jump, and you were crying and… and…"

John clutched Sherlock tightly "it's ok" he whispered "it's ok, that bad man can't hurt you anymore Sherlock, he can never hurt you again…"

John spent the next hour soothing Sherlock, until he finally fell asleep again. Then, he raced straight to the phone, called Mycroft and recounted the events of the past hour.

"That is odd…" Mycroft replied when John had finished.

"Odd? He's dreaming of Reichenbach!" John responded angrily "why is he remembering that Mycroft? That still reduces me to tears, and if that memory is floating across his mind as an adult…"

"Now John, there is a chance that significant memories from his adult life will find their way back into his mind, but they will mostly form in his subconscious state" Mycroft stated "keep a close eye on him, and ask him what he dreams about. I will talk to my scientists about this and see what they have to say."

John was still unsure, but he hung up the phone feeling better than he had previously. Hopefully, Mycroft's scientists would be able to work out was wrong, because there was no way he could let a two year old Sherlock dream of the Fall…


	9. Chapter 9

John began keeping a close eye on Sherlock. The Fall nightmare had shaken both of them, and John was increasingly worried about how Sherlock's younger self would react to the visions.

Mycroft went back to his government officials to question them about the thought processes one would experience after taking the TARDIS effect. His scientists came back saying that the consumer should have no memory of previous life however there was a chance that extremely significant events could reside in the brains regions and be again awakened in the thought process of the users younger self.

Mycroft was busy explaining all of this to John at 221B. John's head fell into his hands.

"This is… just not right!" John groaned "how the hell can we let a two year old dream of Reichenbach, it's just… wrong!"

Mycroft sighed "I'm sorry John" he replied "but these effects are quite adverse. They're unexplainable at this current stage; well, the electrodes may play a part in the hypersensitivity which is the result of the nightmares…"

John shook his head "it's just wrong, that's all."

Suddenly, there was a scream from down the hall. John and Mycroft's heads both snapped up at the same time.

"Is he…?" Mycroft questioned.

"He always goes to sleep at around this time" John nodded fearfully "he has to, otherwise he's overtired, and that's the last thing he needs…"

Sherlock came hurtling out of his room, tears running down his face and he flung himself into John's arms.

"John!" he wept "John, he was there again, and there was blood…!"

John soothed Sherlock quietly, shooting Mycroft a look as if to say 'see what I mean?'

Mycroft bent down in front of John and Sherlock (an impressive feat in a £700 suit) and spoke quietly to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, it's Mycroft" he whispered.

Sherlock turned away from being hidden in John's jumper, and looked into Mycroft's eyes with his big, blue, tear-stained ones.

"Now Sherlock, explain to me. The nightmares you experience, you must try and explain them to me."

"No!" Sherlock shuddered "too scary!"

"Sherlock, you have to try" Mycroft replied "if you can, I might be able to stop them."

Sherlock sniffed and turned to Mycroft fully.

"Now Sherlock, what do you see every time you have that nightmare?" Mycroft asked.

"I see… a man in a suit" Sherlock began "and… he's telling me that I have to jump…"

"Why?" asked Mycroft.

John gave Mycroft a look, but Mycroft continued "why does he want you to jump?"

"He says… that if I don't jump, then John is going to…"

Mycroft leaned in "what Sherlock?"

"Die!" Sherlock managed to blurt out "he said that John will die and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson!"

John stroked his curls, while Mycroft nodded in reply "you must keep going Sherlock, what else happens in your nightmare?"

"The man in the suit tells me to jump, and then he shoots himself in the mouth!" Sherlock sobbed, and then continued "and then John appears, and he tells me not to jump, but I can't refuse to jump, or else John will die! But then John starts to cry, and I start to cry…"

Sherlock broke down completely, burying his face into John's jumper and weeping. Mycroft leaned back.

"I believe I understand this" Mycroft explained "the memory is surfacing from Sherlock's Mind Palace. You remember that of course John?"

John nodded "but, how does this work?"

"Well, Sherlock doesn't realise that he actually has a Mind Palace. He didn't invent it until he was five. But now his Mind Palace has been reduced, and a most significant memory is clearly 'The Fall.' He is remembering it in a dreamlike state. Thus, he is remembering it as a two year old. Exaggerated, but still realistic enough so that it has a terrifying adverse effect."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock "so… how do we solve the problem?"

"I'm afraid this won't be pretty" Mycroft replied "but…"

"Yes?" John asked.

"Well, there is a possible substance that my scientists can create which will lessen the impact of his nightmares" Mycroft explained "fortunately, this will not alter his mind frame, more so lessen the impact that it will have on his child like mind."

"But… what's so ugly about it?" questioned John.

"Well, the only way this could be administered is injection, and I remember when Sherlock got his vaccinations as a child…" Mycroft began.

John shuddered, but nodded "whatever it takes."

"I'll have it made up at once" Mycroft explained "come round tonight."


	10. Chapter 10

That night, John took Sherlock over to Mycroft's. After being taken through three stages of security, he was taken to a private lab inside the house. Inside, he met Mycroft and an assistant (he was a member of Mycroft's private health care who hadn't been on call that evening).

"Pleasure to see you John" Mycroft nodded, as John stared around in amazement "this used to be our father's labs, I them set up for the purpose of today."

John couldn't help noticing that Sherlock had clung tightly to his jacket. John was actually feeling nervous himself, and he wasn't even in to have anything done to him.

Mycroft gestured for him to bring Sherlock closer to him. When John obliged, Mycroft lifted Sherlock up onto a table and looked him straight in the eye.

"Sherlock, do you understand what is happening to you right now?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft nodded in understanding.

"I'm going to get rid of your nightmares" Mycroft explained "to do so, I'm afraid I am going to have to inject you with a substance."

Sherlock shook his head furiously "no!"

Mycroft rose an eyebrow "Sherlock, I am afraid this is not up for discussion. Now, sit still whilst I inject you."

"No Mycroft!" Sherlock cried "please don't! John, don't let him!"

John shook his head "it's important Sherlock, I'm sorry…"

Sherlock tried to stand up and run out, but Mycroft picked him up deftly, and placed him back on the table. John watched as he motioned for his assistant to hand him a needle.

Sherlock struggled and shrieked, but Mycroft held him firmly. He inserted the needle into Sherlock's upper arm. Sherlock suddenly went limp and collapsed.

Mycroft stood back and watched as his assistant lowered Sherlock down, before checking his temperature and blood pressure. Convinced everything was fine, he nodded to Mycroft before leaving the room.

John examined Sherlock, before turning to Mycroft "is he…"

"He's fine" Mycroft insisted "he'll be a bit drowsy for a while, and he'll undoubtedly be annoyed, but there will be no dangerous side effects."

"Thank goodness" John sighed "so, the nightmares will disappear now, right?"

Mycroft nodded "I believe so John. If they don't, come straight back here and we'll run some more tests."

"Alright" John nodded "er… you're not going to tell me what you injected him with are you?"

Mycroft smiled "correct John, you do catch on quickly."

John couldn't help but smile a little "right. I'll leave him here until he wakes up, right?"

Mycroft nodded "right" he replied before he strolled out calmly.


	11. Chapter 11

John sat by Sherlock's side, watching as he breathed deeply, every once in a while checking his pulse to see that his blood was flowing normally.

After six hours out cold from the injection, Sherlock finally blinked, yawned and looked properly up at John.

John smiled down at him "any nightmares?" he questioned.

Sherlock shook his head, but then John noticed that he was glaring up at him.

"Sherlock?" John questioned.

He didn't get to ask any question, because Sherlock sat up quickly and began pummelling John with his fists.

"Ow! Sherlock, stop that!" John cried, shocked at Sherlock's sudden outburst.

"Why did you let him stab me?" Sherlock cried, and John was shocked to see that tears (real tears mind you) were rolling down Sherlock's cheeks.

"Sherlock…" John answered "it was for your nightmares. It was meant to help you…"

"I don't like you anymore!" Sherlock snapped sulkily, turning away from John and folding his arms.

"Sherlock…" John said quietly "Sherlock, now you're just being silly…"

"No I'm not!" Sherlock yelled "you're silly! Normal people don't sit and watch while people are stabbed in the arm!"

Despite the serious tone in his voice, John couldn't help but giggle. Sherlock was acting so much like his adult counterpart that John had to remind himself he was talking to a child.

Sherlock unfortunately didn't see things that way.

"I hate you!" he yelled, before getting up and trying to stalk out of the room.

"Sherlock!" John yelled "Sherlock, you stay right where you are!"

John reached over and grabbed Sherlock's arm. The boy in turn tried to twist out of his grasp, but John held fast.

"Sherlock, I am trained to combat rebel soldiers; a two year old boy is not a problem" John spoke calmly.

Sherlock thrashed around "let go of me John!" he yelled "letgoletgoletgo…"

"No Sherlock" John replied "your brother warned me you would be angry when you came out of this, but I never expected you to be like this. Now, we are going to sit down and talk this out rationally, and you are not going to try and leave again, alright?"

Sherlock-losing his bravado-nodded his head again, letting two small tears fall down his cheeks again.

John led him back to the table, before lifting him up and seating him down.

"Sherlock, listen to me" John spoke calmly again "I understand you're angry, I get it. But I need you to understand that this was for your own good. Mycroft and I knew that your nightmares were causing you stress, and we both wanted to solve the problem as quickly as we could. Thusly, we had to inject you with a solution that would get rid of your nightmares, we weren't trying to hurt you."

Sherlock sniffed and wiped his eyes "but it hurt!"

"I know" John nodded, smoothing Sherlock's curls "I know it hurt Sherlock, but I will admit, you were very brave."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide "was I?" he asked in awe.

"Yes, you were mostly very sensible. Most other people your age wouldn't be" John nodded, recalling circumstances were as a doctor, he had to give children their first injection (involuntary shudder).

Sherlock smiled a small smile "John… I don't hate you anymore."

John laughed "good to know Sherlock; now, can I have a hug?"

Sherlock reached up and wrapped his arms around John's neck, hugging him close."

"Can we go home now John?" Sherlock questioned.

John nodded "sure Sherlock, let's go home."

**Note: Hello! Sorry for the lack of updates recently, but I have had no spare time (and exams, YUCK) so I haven't had the chance to write. Don't worry though, I'm back in full swing!**

**This chapter was an interesting one to write. It brought back some memories of my first injection (that I could remember) as a child. Naturally I was terrified and sort of reacted in the same way Sherlock did (maybe not as dramatic… come on, I was about **_**five**_**). Sherlock's reaction is actually taken off the reactions I see at my current age. I have pretty much mastered the art of injections now, but I have seen some people who are terrified of them.**

**One more thing ladies and gentlemen who may read this story. I AM NOW TAKING REQUESTS FOR CHAPTERS. I have ideas of course, but I value you as my readers and supporters, and I like to hear what ideas and suggestions you have! If you have an idea or a prompt for a chapter (or chapters) please make it known through a review or PM. Thanks for your time, and sorry for the atrociously long note!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Note: Again, sorry for the complete lack of updates. I got distracted with my other stories, almost forgot about this one! Luckily, I'm back again, I promise this time!**

**Poor John's sick here! I reckon that this one will span several chapters, to add to the fluffiness.**

**Thank you to the prompt from Frstbitten! If anyone has any other prompts, please let me know, I love to make people happy by writing their prompt. Enjoy!**

Thankfully, after the injection had been administered, Sherlock's nightmares lessened. They mostly became blurry visions that Sherlock couldn't make sense of, and Sherlock managed to sleep well again.

John was a different kettle of fish. One night, he woke up in a profound sweat, his head burning. He sighed and flopped back down, turning to stare at the clock.

2:45. Fantastic, he'd barely been asleep.

He needed to use the bathroom, but his head was aching and he felt too lazy to get up. Come to think of it, his throat was burning as well. In fact, his stomach was grumbling… fuck.

John groaned. He was sick. And not the minor-cold-that-will-clear-up-quickly kind of sick. This was the kind of illness that meant lying back in bed and praying that your temperature wouldn't surpass the length that could kill you.

Groaning again, John ran his hands down his face and concentrated on trying to get back to sleep.

He managed to drift off again, but was reminded of his illness with persistent fever dreams.

When he next snapped awake, it was thankfully light outside, but his reminder of Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan dancing in blue tutu's to selections from the Nutcracker, played by an orchestra consisting of thirteen dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit was enough to make him flop back down in bed again and groan.

He remained that way until he heard a little voice pipe up.

"John? John? John?" he heard it ask consistently.

John slowly turned his head and noticed Sherlock, standing beside him and blinking up at him.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock asked "your face is all red, and your eyes are really watery, are you sad?"

John coughed "no Sherlock, I'm just not very well" he coughed again, this time almost choking from the consistency.

"Here, I'll make you some breakfast" John started to sit up, but Sherlock pushed him back down again.

"No John" Sherlock protested "you're not well! I'll look after you!"

John smiled "I'm fine Sherlock, let me…"

But Sherlock was having none of that. John's argument wasn't well back up, especially as he started coughing again.

Sherlock shook his head and squeezed John's hand.

"Stay in bed, I'll make you some breakfast" he smiled, before racing out of the room.

"Don't touch the stove under any circumstances!" John called after him, before collapsing into a coughing fit again.

A few minutes later, Sherlock emerged again, balancing a bowl, some toast and a cup of tea on a tray. He placed it on the bed and stood back, smiling up a John.

John examined the contents of the tray. There was what looked like lumpy, grey mush in a bowl. The toast was burnt, and the tea… John carefully picked it up and took a tentative sip.

Stone cold. Ice cold. Could pass for melted tea-flavoured ice cream.

John placed the cup down, and picked up the bowl. His first indication that this could be dangerous was when the spoon took several minutes to be released from the sludge's clutches.

"Er… Sherlock?" John questioned "what exactly is… this?"

Sherlock laughed "oh John, it's porridge!"

John pulled a duck face "how exactly did you make this?

Sherlock thought "well, I took the oats, and I mixed them with water from the tap, and then I put it all in a bowl, but we're out of milk…"

"Alright" John shuddered "the toast looks nice, I think I'll just have the toast and… tea."

Sherlock nodded and bounded out of the room. John decided that burnt toast and cold tea was better than nothing, and set to work.

While he ate, he texted Lestrade.

_I'm sick. If you have time, can you come in and keep an eye on Sherlock?_

_-JW_

_Sure. Do you want me to bring you anything?_

_-GL_

_Paracetamol, Chinese take-out and a clean thermometer._

_-JW_

_What's wrong with your other thermometer?_

_-GL_

_Adult Sherlock dipped it in acid. _

_-JW_

_I'll be right over._

_-GL_


	13. Chapter 13

As promised, Lestrade came around, bearing gifts of a non-acidic thermometer, dim-sum and Panadol.

He arrived to find John flattened across the couch and snivelling, and Sherlock sitting beside him, clutching his hand.

When he saw Lestrade, Sherlock jumped up and raced forward.

"Lestrade!" he cried in excitement, throwing his arms around the Detective Inspector.

Lestrade stooped down and returned the hug, before straightening up and smiling down at John.

"How are you?" he asked, handing him the thermometer.

"Still alive" John snivelled with a weak smile, before checking out his temperature "Christ, I'm burning up!"

Lestrade handed him the Chinese take-out "this is meant to be good for sick doctors."

"You are a saviour" John breathed, breaking open the containers.

Sherlock tugged on Lestrade's coat "I've been taking care of him!" he grinned proudly.

"Have you?" Lestrade asked, picking Sherlock up and whirling him around, making the toddler squeal in delight.

"Yes!" he giggled as Lestrade put him back down.

"He has" John sniffed, a brighter smile gracing his face "but right now, I think somebody needs to take care of him."

Lestrade nodded "well, I'm happy to volunteer!"

Sherlock grinned and hugged Lestrade around the neck.

"Can you tell pirate stories?" he questioned.

"I can" Lestrade grinned "although they probably won't be as good as John's."

John smiled, but then began coughing and hacking again, his eyes screwed up and his chest heaving.

In an instant, Sherlock jumped up and raced to John's side, gently taking hold of his hand and whispering encouraging words to him. Lestrade watched as John's cough slowly dispersed and his eyes came to focus on the boy in front of him.

Sherlock sat John up and handed him a cup, eyeing him as he gulped back the liquid, before falling back against the couch again.

"Thanks Sherlock" John managed to blurt without choking "Lestrade, I think it's time Sherlock went for a rest, don't you?"

Lestrade nodded, and held out his hand for Sherlock to take.

Sherlock ignored it. He grasped John's hand still, a frightened look in his eyes.

"No! I want to stay with John!" Sherlock gasped.

John couldn't answer in a full sentence, he was coughing too much. Instead he choked out Sherlock…sleep…now…

Sherlock allowed himself to be lead away by Lestrade, who took him to his room and set him down on his bed.

"There's a good boy Sherlock, lie down now" Lestrade smiled soothingly "it's ok…"

"No it's not!" Sherlock yelled, and Lestrade was shocked to see tears forming in his eyes "I want John!"

Lestrade was taken aback. He didn't know what to do in this situation. He could handle an adult Sherlock well enough, but a teary three year old Sherlock was a different matter.

Lestrade gently rubbed Sherlock's back and soothed him.

"Sssh Sherlock" he whispered "what's all the tears about?"

"John's sick!" Sherlock began crying louder "he's really sick, and I can't make him better!"

Lestrade understood. He lifted Sherlock onto his lap, and gently whispered to him until he slowly calmed down.

"Now Sherlock, John's not seriously ill" Lestrade ensured softly "you know that John's a doctor, right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"So John would know if there was something seriously wrong with him" Lestrade reasoned "John's a clever man, he knows how to look after himself."

Sherlock nodded and sniffed.

"I don't want John to get worse!" he snivelled "I love him!"

Lestrade was struck dumb.

"You… love him?"

Sherlock nodded "yes! Because he's clever, and he's kind, and he's funny, and he looks after me..." Sherlock choked on a few stray tears "John's wonderful! I wish he was my real father…"

Lestrade remained quiet. He knew that the Holmes' father had been deceased for three years now. He had no understanding of Sherlock's childhood, but he reasoned that John was probably more of a loving caregiver than Mr Holmes.

He stroked Sherlock's unruly curls "and I know John loves you too" he replied honestly "I promise you Sherlock, John's going to be alright."

After a few more tears, Sherlock calmed down and nodded slowly, before collapsing against Lestrade's chest and falling asleep.

Lestrade put him to bed, before going back into the living room. John was still on the couch, and still coughing.

"Did he go to sleep alright?"

Lestrade sat down slowly, and began to tell John about everything that had transpired.

After he had finished, John stared at him, awestruck.

"He… he said that he loved me?"

Lestrade nodded "he adores you beyond measure John, you're like a father to him" he smiled.

John was shocked. He had always thought that the child Sherlock had enjoyed his company, but this was a big step.

"I don't think I can replace his father in his life Lestrade" John sighed.

Lestrade shrugged "you don't have to. John, he worships you, all he wants you to do is love him back."

John nodded "I do! God, I do. He's a wonderful child… I just can't forget that he's going to be an adult again one day…"

John paused. Lestrade saw a vision of tears in his eyes.

"Lestrade, I'm going to miss him!" John suddenly wailed.

Lestrade was taken aback "John, I thought you wanted the adult Sherlock back?"

"I do!" John cried "I want that genius adult back more than anything, but… I'm going to miss him as a child. I mean, he's so… innocent!"

Lestrade nodded in understanding.

"Yes, it's quite a change to not have him insulting everyone" Lestrade nodded "he's a fine child."

John smiled, before almost popping his eyeballs out of his skull in another coughing fit. Lestrade patted him on the back.

"You'd better go" John coughed "I don't want you to get sick as well. Thank you so much for the food and the thermomotor!"

Lestrade grinned and made his way towards the door "my pleasure… and John?"

John waited for him to finish.

"Take care of him, ok?"

John nodded in agreement. Lestrade slipped out, shutting the door gently behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

John's fever was slowly residing, but he still wasn't mobile enough to truly look after Sherlock properly.

But that wasn't a problem for Sherlock, who insisted that under every circumstance, he was going to take care of John.

And surprisingly, he had done so. There were times when he had refused to leave John's side, clinging to his jumper and softly talking to John.

It made John almost want to cry. To see such a sweet image of Sherlock Holmes of all people was just amazing. But Sherlock's child-like self was not the same as the adult who had once graced 221B with his presence.

He was so different. His attitudes and his kindness were things that John didn't know existed until the younger Sherlock had presented them to him.

A fine example of this came when one night during the middle of his illness when the pair where lying on the couch together after a long day. John's cough was still a present menace, creeping up on him when he least expected it. Sherlock was lying on John's stomach, sleeping lightly.

John couldn't help but feel proud as he watched the sleeping figure. He knew he wasn't really raising Sherlock again, but he still felt as though he was a fatherly figure in Sherlock's world. Seeing Sherlock looking so innocent, so sweet… it was such a change to the swift, almost insane figure that usually stomped around their flat.

John's moment of peace was broken when he suddenly began to cough violently again, startling Sherlock awake.

Sherlock watched as John coughed and coughed, sitting upright to try and clear his airways, eyes screwed up and chest heaving. When he eventually calmed down enough to breathe properly again, Sherlock did something totally unexpected.

He reached up, and kissed John's lips.

It wasn't a _proper _kiss. It was really more of a little bump of the lips. But John's eyes grew wide as Sherlock pulled away and smiled.

"S…Sherlock" John gasped "what was that for?!"

He was shocked. He knew Sherlock probably didn't mean any harm, but to have his age reversed flatmate kiss him on the lips…

"It was an experiment" Sherlock smiled, jumping off of John's stomach and standing up "I was trying to make you feel better."

"By kissing me?" John asked, still feeling confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, as though John was stupid "really John, it works in books all the time! In Sleeping Beauty, the prince kisses her and she wakes up. In Snow White, the prince brings her back to life by kissing her. In the Frog Prince, the princess kisses the frog and he transforms back to his original form. So naturally, by kissing someone, you make them feel better!"

John stared at Sherlock in shocked silence for a moment, before he began to giggle, then chortle, then burst into tears of laughter.

"Oh Sherlock" he laughed "you are a caution, you know that?"

Sherlock blinked, slightly confused "why John?"

John giggled "oh Sherlock, you can't just cure someone by _kissing_ them! I should know, I'm a doctor…"

"But it worked John!" Sherlock grinned "you've stopped coughing!"

John abruptly stopped laughing and checked. Sure enough, his persistent coughing had-for the first time in days-ceased.

As John tried to find the words to contemplate his new position, Sherlock grinned and raced out of the room.

"I told you so!" he cried out over his shoulder.

John smiled, before flopping back down on his the couch and grinning as he watched Sherlock run into his room.

He lightly traced his lips, smiling at Sherlock's child-like view of cures for illness. It truly was and adorable sight.

He knew that his cough wasn't really gone, that he was still sick and that it would take more than just a kiss to cure him.

But that suddenly didn't matter anymore. For once he was alright with pretending that he didn't have a care in the world.

John smiled and-for the first time in days-fell asleep with not even a cough to plague him.


	15. Chapter 15

Call it fate, or simply pure luck, but a few days later John's cold subdued. Sherlock was incredibly proud of himself sitting by John's side and proudly stating his experiment had been a success.

John let him boast. He found it compelling that Sherlock was happy to simply sit aside him and talking to him about nothing in particular.

Mycroft had texted him a few days ago as he was recovering from his illness.

_You'll be pleased to hear that there is progress. The solution will be ready soon._

_-MH_

John knew he should be pleased, but deep down he couldn't help but feel miserable.

He only had to look at Sherlock's two year old self and instantly note why he was so upset.

He would miss this. The feeling that he had someone to take care of, someone who loved him just not only because he was a caregiver, but because he could be a friend as well.

John couldn't think of a time Sherlock had ever spoken of his childhood, but it seemed to be a difficult period for Sherlock, one which he hated to mention.

So for John to play even a minute role in replaying Sherlock's childhood? Really, that was more than he could ever hope for. If he could make Sherlock happy, then that was all he could desire.

But Mycroft had nearly finished the solution. And John was panicking.

He wanted Sherlock back of course. He needed the adult version of his friend more than he'd ever needed anybody. But he knew he would miss the adorable toddler who had literally crawled into his life and demanded attention.

John didn't know how to tell Sherlock. The child clearly had no memory of his past life, it would be difficult to explain the actual significance of the substance that Mycroft was busy concocting in his labratory.

John knew that one day the time would come when the truth would come out. But until then he was determined to provide the care and attention that Sherlock's younger self deserved.

* * *

A fortnight after he had received Mycroft's he was busy reading Sherlock a story to keep his brilliant mind entertained and distract himself from the array of thoughts which were running through his head.

"And suddenly, Cinderella's filthy rags turned into a beautiful, sparkling ball gown, and two slippers of pure glass appeared on her feet, glittering in the moonlight…"

"John, this story is very unrealistic."

John sighed with fondness and turned the page "it's a fairy tale Sherlock, it's naturally unrealistic."

"Can you read me the one about the girl who's devoured by the wolf?"

"Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Yes, that's the one."

John obliged, feeling that Sherlock would enjoy the experimental autopsy performed by the huntsman.

Suddenly, his phone went off.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and read a text from Mycroft. His mouth dropped open in horror.

_John. Accidental fire in lab. One of the technicians dropped a highly flammable substance against our stovetops. An entire section of our lab has been burnt, along with the TARDIS antidote. I'm afraid we are back to square one._

_-MH_

Sherlock examined John's panicked face and lightly brushed his cheek.

"John, you're not allowed to stop in the middle of the story!"

When John didn't answer, Sherlock panicked.

"John?" he asked nervously "John?!"

John snapped out of his stupor and acknowledged the child.

"Oh Sherlock…" John whispered "Sherlock, there's been an… accident at your brother's labs…"

He felt the child stiffen in his arms.

"Is Mycroft dead?" he asked fearfully.

"No!" John quickly assured him "no, Mycroft's fine… but I'm afraid that an experiment that he was working on has been destroyed."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes.

"Is that the one that's meant to make me big again?" he asked quietly.

John blinked "how do you know…"

"I heard you talking to Mycroft about it" Sherlock mentioned quietly "I don't remember being big. I just want to grow up and be a Consulting Pirate!"

He looked so endearing and nervous that John couldn't help but smile.

He gently scooped the child up in his arms and lightly kissed Sherlock's forehead.

"You'll be anything you desire when you grow up" John said quietly, pushing his worries out of his head and focusing on Sherlock "I believe in you Sherlock…"

After a short while, Sherlock gently insisted that John continue his story.

After Sherlock had fallen asleep (he had refused to sleep until after the gripping medicinal finale) John texted Mycroft back.

It was a simple three word text, but it told Mycroft everything he needed to know.

_I can wait._

_-JW_

**Note: I am so sorry for refusing to acknowledge you all recently, but I unfortunately became extremely ill and was unable to do any writing for at least a fortnight. Please forgive me, I refuse to abandon this story! It will be finished, but I am still in a recovery period, and I am slowly working at my writing again. Hopefully this is decent! :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**Note: These chapter/s comes as a prompt from Lady Juse. Hopefully I have done your request justice!**

John soon learned to cope with the longer process of time added to Mycroft's incident. He wouldn't abandon Sherlock. He knew that he would have to stay by his flatmate until he became the same adult again, no matter how long it took.

Sherlock remained oblivious, but he sometimes caught the worry that could become etched across John's face. Some nights he would stay cuddled in John's arms, staying quiet for hours and simply enjoying John's company.

John still occasionally worried. He only wanted what was best for Sherlock, and he constantly worried that he was providing less than Sherlock required. Even after so many months, he still worried that he wasn't a good caretaker.

One evening, John took Sherlock out for a walk the park. The sun was setting, resulting in a brilliant glow which cast straight over the world, feeling the heat slowly disappear from the shady glen which surrounded them. Sherlock huddled closer to Sherlock, keeping him close and being reassured from the warmth of his body.

"John?" he asked quietly "where does the sun go when the moon comes out?"

John smiled. He recalled the adult Sherlock's lack of information on the solar system. The thought of an adult Sherlock, stomping around the flat, throwing his arms in the air and complaining, was granted the grace of a sad smile across John's face. He missed the insane adult more than he could ever admit.

"Well Sherlock, the earth revolves around the sun. And as we spin around, the sun slowly disappears from our line of sight, and goes to visit the rest of the world. And when it does that, the moon decides to come and grant us a visit."

Sherlock smiled, in turn moving even closer to John. John finished his explanation and just kept Sherlock close.

He thought about all the times the adult Sherlock had been a mixture of insane, sociopathic, genius, brilliant, intelligent, quick, noticeable and extraordinary. As a child, all of those traits disappeared, simply becoming a very realistic boy who only craved affection.

John wondered what it could feel like to not have anyone. To be kept away from a family like situation, raised by your older sibling-the only one in the world who really cared about you.

What was it like? John couldn't say. He didn't know what it meant to be alone. He'd had friends, family, people who genuinely cared about him and taken interest in him. Aside from Mycroft, who in the world loved Sherlock?

He thought of all the times Sherlock had been in trouble. All the insane times he had been driven half insane by his own mind. He always came to John, attempted to reconnect with the world that surrounded him. John had always been there, would always try to be there…

Why?

_Because he loved Sherlock._

To an extent, he adored Sherlock. He had never had a friend quite like Sherlock. Nobody in the world had ever left such an impression on him before. He would always protect Sherlock. He would show Sherlock that he genuinely cared about him, no matter what the cost...

He didn't get a chance to continue his thoughts, because Sherlock gave a surprised gasp.

"John!" he whispered "John, look!"

John looked, and instantly understood the child's fascination.

Dozens upon dozens of lazy fireflies, dancing against in a private corner of the world, far away from any noisy human who would interrupt them.

John watched as Sherlock slowly wandered forward, admiring the creatures as the fluttered lazily amongst the trees, watch them embrace him, enclosing him in a golden light. To John's mind, it looked for all the world as though the sun was embracing the moon.

He didn't get to marvel at the spectacle for another moment however, because he suddenly felt a ferocious whack around the back of his head. He stumbled forward, feeling intense pain tear through his skull, before another sharp blow rendered him unconscious.


	17. Chapter 17

**Note: Sorry for _another_ note**, **but I must note that these next few chapter will have examples of violence in them. THERE WILL BE NOTHING GRAPHIC. I just think that it is sensible to warn you-as my readers-that there will be examples of-for lack of a better word-revenge. You have been warned.**

John felt his eyes slowly open. A sharp stabbing pain shot through his skull, electing a groan from the poor man.

He blinked blearily, trying to gather his vision, but his sight was all over the place, making it impossible to note anything but shadowed shapes.

He could tell he was in a room, and a highly unsanitary one at that. Small, cubicle, obviously built as a stronghold, the place smelt horribly of a mixture of old sweat and cow intestines (don't. Even. Ask.)

He suddenly heard a voice break out against the darkness.

"Good evening Mr Holmes."

John elected another groan, before managing to raise his head, blinking and slowly gathering together that sight and shape of a man.

"Such a pleasure for you to join us, I'd offer you a beverage, but with a split lip like _that_, I don't think it would be much use to you."

John anxiously ran his tongue slowly over his lips, coming away with the metallic taste of dried blood. He could hear the voice continuing its speech.

"I suppose you can understand why you've been brought here… you are quite the man for deductions, are you not?"

John tried to answer confidently, but the pain in his upper body thrived, and all that came out was a feeble squeak.

"Who are you?"

The man laughed cruelly, before John felt a hand running through his hair.

"You know full well who I am" the man spat back in retaliation "I've come back to cover that 'debt' that you damn well owe me."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" John protested. If he was going to continually mistaken for his flatmate, then he may as well start wearing a bloody nametag "I don't know what you're talking about!"

The man slapped him across the face, only furthering the thriving pain from the poor doctor.

"Let me _enlighten _you" the man snarled, releasing the doctor from his grasp.

"I'm David Barwick. Brother of the _deceased _Barry Barwick" the man snarled again "my brother asked for your advice, asked you to release him of his murder charge, and what do you do?" David laughed cruelly "you insult my brother, correct his grammar like a fucking prep school teacher, then refuse his case and leave him to _rot."_

David paused and gathered his thoughts as John tried to piece together what he was talking about.

He remembered-weeks before the entire insane Moriarty fiasco resulting in both of them almost getting blown to pieces-Sherlock had been called out to a case in Minsk Belarus. He had been out to try and tackle a clearly guilty case of jealous rage resulting in the death of an innocent woman…

OH.

John's head snapped up as he realised _exactly _how much trouble he was truly in.

David smirked as he saw the anxious recollection on John's face.

"You thought you were finished with him didn't you?" he spat "well Mr Holmes, perhaps a dead man is of no concern of yours, but a healthy and thriving man is." He dug into his pockets and brought out a flick knife "especially one who has plans for _violent_ revenge."

John shrank back as the ferocious man towered over him.

"I'm not going to finish you off straight away; they let my brother hang for a decent half hour, struggling between life and death…" David smirked, before tilting up John's head "but I can promise you Mr Holmes, that these next few bloodless hours will be the most painful experiences of your life…"

John gave a strangled gasp as a filthy rag was tossed into his mouth, acting as a sick ball gag.

His breath hitched in fright as he saw the flash of the knife being raised above his head.

"No, no! I'm not Sherlock Holmes! I'M NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES!" John shrieked into the gag.

Whether or not David understood him, the administrations continued anyway. John found his head pulled back, before he felt the scrape of the knife run across his scalp.

Before he had time to contemplate, he felt soft blonde locks fall around him. Before he could struggle or protest, he felt another painful drag of the knife across his scalp.

"My first aim…" David explained furiously between scrapes "is to take away that sociopathic pride of yours…" John felt a hand run slowly down his cheek "and what's a brilliant consultant without his looks?"

The pain became unbearable as the knife ran over previous wounds, but John gritted his teeth and attempted to bear the pain.

Eventually, David threw John to the ground, before standing up and walking towards the exit of the room.

"There's more to come my dear Mr Holmes" he grinned "but I think a minor recovery period will suffice…"

And with that, he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

John groaned and managed to finally evict the filthy rag from his mouth. He slowly raised his hands to his scalp, expecting to feel a terrific mess. Thankfully, his scalp wasn't as bad as the pain made out to be, but it was a fact that most of his hair was scattered on the floor around him.

John directed his line of sight away from the blond locks, trying to gather his thoughts. But only one vision was thriving in his mind.

_Sherlock._


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock continued to focus on the dancing stars. Their splendor enamored him, it fascinated him to think that any living creature could be so beautiful in such a quiet, almost shy sense. Only revealing their splendor when they thought that the rest of the world would never notice...

Sherlock eventually lost interest in the miraculous fireflies, before turning around to discuss their beauty with John.

Only, John had disappeared.

"John?" Sherlock called eagerly, still on an adrenalin high from his experience "John, where are you?"

There was no reply, and no physical placement of John anywhere to be found. Sherlock gave a giggle, wondering if John was playing a trick.

"John?" he called again "where are you?"

When he didn't receive an answer, Sherlock's little heart began to beat faster.

"John?" he called again "are we playing hide and seek?"

Still no reply came from the trees which surrounded him.

An alarm bell began ringing faintly in Sherlock's mind.

"John?" he called again "John?!"

Still no reply.

The alarm bell was ringing far louder now, piercing the interior of Sherlock's brain and bursting out with his cries.

"John! John where are you?!"

John was nowhere to be found. A childhood panic formed in Sherlock's eyes, a fear which runs through every child when they find themselves left alone.

Sherlock began running through the park, calling out manically, ignoring the tears which seemed to have formed in his eyes.

"John, John, _John!"_

Sherlock suddenly tripped over, before he felt himself stumble and land with a hard smack on the path.

He screwed up his eyes, but couldn't avoid letting his tears fall. The park suddenly seemed bigger, darker, far more dangerous. It was as though it had become a distant reality from the mysterious light of the fireflies, replaced with a gloomy shade which threatened to devour anyone who dared to enter.

Sherlock began sobbing. He wished that John would come, pick him up and brush him off, do something silly to make him laugh and cuddle him in a comforting embrace.

But John wouldn't come. John was gone.

Sherlock cried harder. He was scared, absolutely terrified. Where was John? What if he was in trouble? Sherlock was positive that John would never leave him alone on his own accord, not even for a moment. Something must have gone horribly wrong whilst his back was turned…

Eventually, Sherlock's sobbing ceased to simple tears. He sniffed and wept, drawing his knees up to his chin.

He knew he had to think logically. No amount of crying or wishing would bring John to him. If John was gone, then Sherlock knew he had to find him.

Sherlock tried to think of what to do. What would John do if he was the one who had gone missing?

Sherlock's mind flashed to the image of the kind woman who lived below 221B. Mrs Hudson was a grown up, wasn't she? Grown-ups were very good at finding lost things, weren't they? Surely Mrs Hudson would be able to help him!

Sherlock wiped his eyes and got up. He knew now that the most important thing to do was find Mrs Hudson and receive help.

Sherlock blinked off into the darkness of the park. He had never gone anywhere on his own before. He had always had an adult with him. He suddenly felt small and useless. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide until morning.

But Sherlock knew that that wasn't an option. The darkness couldn't possibly hurt him could it?

So, picking a direction at random, Sherlock set off into the darkness. He tried to calm himself by pretending he was on an adventure, a Consulting Pirate, on his way to rescue his best friend, just like in the story John had told him.

* * *

Mrs Hudson had seen a lot in her days as a landlady. But the last thing she had expected to see this evening was a shivering, frightened, child version of Sherlock standing on her doorstep.

She had bundled the poor lad inside, before getting him warm and presenting him with a plate of biscuits. She then listened in shock as Sherlock managed to stammer out his story of John going missing. She listened in shock and felt her heart clench as Sherlock told her about his hopeless wandering through London's streets, desperately trying to find Baker Street. She shuddered to think of what may have happened if a less than stable character had gotten their hands on him...

She kept a careful eye on him as she rang Lestrade. He was huddled up in the corner of her sofa, sniffling hard with very red eyes. She told Lestrade the whole story, before receiving a promise from the Detective Inspector that he would be over momentarily.

Sherlock listened anxiously from his position. He desperately hoped that Lestrade would be able to find John.

He gave a solitary sniff again, before huddling into a cushion. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine John being beside him, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.


	19. Chapter 19

Lestrade arrived at 221B to find a snivelling Sherlock wrapped up in Mrs Hudson's arms. He entered and bent down to Sherlock's level, before quietly conferring with the child.

"Sherlock?" he asked quietly "are you able to talk?"

He knew what shock could do to anyone's system, especially a child's. But Sherlock nodded, before opening his mouth and nervously telling Lestrade his story.

Lestrade listened avidly, before giving Sherlock a reassuring hug.

"Don't worry Sherlock, we'll find him" he nodded "John's a clever man Sherlock, and he was a soldier! He knows how to take care of himself."

Sherlock sniffed and nodded. Lestrade gave him a comforting smile, before reaching out a hand.

"Sherlock, I'm going to need you to come to Scotland Yard" he explained "we might need your assistance in finding out where John has gone."

Sherlock nodded feebly, before allowing himself to be picked up by Lestrade and carried out to the awaiting police vehicle.

* * *

John had avidly examined the interior of the room.

Almost empty, aside from a hard wooden plank which suggested the use of a bed. The whole place smelt like sour milk and week old sweat, and it was making John gag.

In a state of thoughtful silence, he picked up some of his shorn golden locks, watching them slip slowly through his fingers. But he didn't have time to feel sorry for himself, despite his pain. He was dealing with a psychopath who clearly thought he was Sherlock and was keen on extracting painful revenge on him.

Speak of the devil.

John heard the door clank open, before revealing David's hefty frame. He could already see the cruel grin spreading across his features.

"Ready for round two Mr Holmes?" he questioned, before stepping into the room and kicking the door shut behind him.

John tried to stand up and prepare for a fight, but the knock to the head earlier had left him gangly and uncoordinated. The most he could do was slide down against the wall and try to lessen the impact of the impending blows by dragging his knees up to his chin.

David smirked, before revealing a metal pipe. John was confused, until he saw David begin to raise it above his head.

"NO!" John screamed "I'M NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES, **I'M NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES!"**

_**THWACK**_

* * *

Sherlock was back down in the park, this time accompanied by members of Scotland Yard. He nervously hung around Lestrade, wondering what evidence could possibly still remain.

Sally Donovan looked on from the sidelines. Despite her dislike for the adult Sherlock, the child version was so innocent, so concerned… She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor kid.

Anderson slid up next to her, gazing on at the scene ahead.

"You do know he's still a psychopath, right?" he asked quietly "he's just been reduced…"

Sally shook her head, continuing to focus on the scene ahead.

"He's not a psychopath Anderson" she explained "he's a very real, very frightened child, who's missing his guardian" she turned back to face Anderson "we can't treat him any differently from any other lost child."

Anderson shrugged, before eyeing Sherlock as he anxiously watched Lestrade.

"Alright Sherlock" Lestrade nodded "I'm going to have to ask you to think very hard. Now, do you remember where you were when John disappeared?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, before he grabbed Lestrade's hand and set off running, dragging the Detective Inspector behind him.

* * *

John groaned bitterly on the floor. It had only been three hardened whacks, before David had left again, but John was in indescribable pain. He could feel the ugly gash across his skull, and the long one which had torn his chin open.

Clearly, David wanted to first induce pain, rather than death.

He glanced around the darkened interior of the room, before slumping down against the wall, trying desperately to erase the bitter pain.

Where was Sherlock?


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock watched as Lestrade fruitfully examined the area, taking notes, calling over his team, having them take notes, and all in all-through Sherlock's eyes-not seeing much progress.

Sherlock sat down on the ground near a tree. His eyes glided back to the hollow where he had first discovered the fireflies, but it was now as empty and bare as the rest of the park.

He suddenly felt the presence of another body sitting down beside him. Turning his head, Sherlock saw that it was the man who wore the same deodorant as the lady who was talking to Lestrade. Sherlock vaguely remembered someone calling him Anderson.

"Are you alright?" Anderson asked.

Sherlock sighed. Of course he wasn't alright! He shook his head, before focusing his eyes on his knees and ignoring Anderson,

Anderson was quiet for a moment. He began speaking again, droning on and on even though Sherlock wasn't really listening.

"You know, you'd usually be tearing around this place, working everything out just by glancing at the world…_blahblahblahblahdroneblahblahdrone _you probably had the secrets of the universe locked away in your head…_blahblahblahblahblahblabbityblah…_"

Sherlock felt a piercing pain in his head. Shocked, he clutched at the side of his head. Wondering if his imagination was playing up, he ignored it and returned to his focus on his knees, still listening to Anderson babbling on and on.

"I mean, I know you're supposed to have deductive reasoning…_blahblahblahblahblah _I mean, just because we wear the same deodorant, it doesn't imply…_blahblahblahblahblahbladronedroneblah _does this rash look serious to you? _blahblahblahblah…"_

Sherlock felt a piercing pain against his head again. It was as though something was trying to break free from his skull and break the exterior of his skin. He opened his mouth, as though he thought the pain would disappear if it had an escape…

But instead he spoke. He spoke in a voice he knew was his own, but yet it was so unfamiliar that Sherlock almost fell over from the shocked tone of the words.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud! You lower the IQ of the whole park!"

Anderson shut up instantly, in pure shock at hearing the Adult Sherlock's words come out of his child counterpart. Sherlock blinked up at Anderson, astonished at his outburst, before he jumped up and ran off to Lestrade, a feeling of confusion spreading through him.

As he neared Lestrade, his head started to throb again. It was as though his brain was rattling around inside his skull, painfully throbbing, practically shouting at him. It was almost as though…

It was like he wasn't even in control of his own mind. It seemed that someone else had taken over his brain, and was controlling his persona.

Sherlock almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice.

"_Why can't you understand?!"_

Sherlock glanced around himself. But nobody was focused on him. Lestrade was busy talking to the other officers, organising a search of the outlying areas for information.

Sherlock heard the voice pierce through him again.

"_Infertile! Why can't they focus on the evidence? It's clearly defined in front of them!"_

Sherlock still couldn't understand where the voice was coming from. But he piped up in a nervous reply.

"Where is the evidence?"

The voice was consistently talking.

"_Ridiculous. A child could sufficiently solve this crime. Honestly, the evidence is right in front of you!"_

Sherlock glanced in front of him. He could only see the trees which lingered in the park, plus the police team who were busy examining, taking notes and focusing on the case.

Except…

Sherlock walked towards the first tree he came to. The grass was slightly flattened, as though someone, somewhere had been standing on it, surely within the past hour…

Sherlock looked up. A thin spray of what looked like red paint was splattered across the bark.

"Lestrade!"

Lestrade ran over quickly. Sherlock pointed out the evidence to Lestrade, who quickly called two of his forensics officers over to examine it.

"It's blood" Anderson confirmed, staring at the splatter "judging by the spray, it's been splattered via a blow to the back of the head."

Sherlock looked at the gruesome splatter, before the voice began ringing out again.

'_Metal pipe obviously. Only an instrument of that strength could deliver such a blow to John's head…'_

"Shut up!" Sherlock screamed, even though he had no idea where the voice was coming from "shut up, shut up, **shut up!"**

Lestrade was at his side in an instant.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Lestrade asked anxiously "are you alright?"

Sherlock couldn't answer. The voice was still ringing out, yelling at him, getting louder.

'_What are you doing?! You're wasting time! You have the evidence, but you're missing the vital piece!"_

Sherlock was frightened now. He didn't have a clue what was possessing him to hear this voice. It was as though a room in his mind was being unlocked, recreated and opened.

'_Look down! For heaven's sakes, look down!'_

"Lestrade, make the voice stop!" Sherlock cried desperately to the Detective Inspector.

Lestrade watched as Sherlock groaned. He himself couldn't hear a thing. The park was as silent as a crypt.

Sherlock didn't try and fight the voice. He was worried his head might be thrust into oblivion if he even considered tackling it. Instead, he listened to it.

'_You're missing vital information! Look down! The answer is right in front of you!'_

Sherlock looked down. His line of sight jumped to shrubbery a few metres away from him. Racing over, he grazed the branches aside, before screaming at Lestrade to come over to him.

Lestrade raced over, a gazed down into the middle of the shrubbery. Nestled in between the leaves, was a bloody, metal pipe.

Sherlock sank to his knees. He could hear Lestrade calling on Anderson to bag the item, could feel the other deodorant lady-Sally-place an arm around him and gently lift him to his feet and could feel himself being walked away from the farce. The last words he heard the voice utter were;

'_Elementary.'_

* * *

"Mycroft, he's been acting legitimately insane" Lestrade noted quietly into his phone, away from the rest of his team "he was describing voices in his head, and then he was screaming. Then he found the vital evidence buried in a shrub."

Mycroft was quiet.

"Mycroft?" Lestrade asked again "do you have any form of solution to this? I could expect it of Sherlock's adult formation, but as a child…"

"As a matter of fact Gregory" Mycroft murmured in reply "I might."

"What is it?" Lestrade insisted.

"Gregory, do you remember the theory of Sherlock's Mind Palace?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes" Lestrade replied "but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well Gregory" Mycroft explained "this TARDIS solution is designed to alter the brain's state. It doesn't fully alter the brain in the way it alters the physical proportions. In a way, it simply _reduces _the brain to the era of the child. The situation you have described to me is a reformation of Sherlock's adult electrodes connecting and situating a new pathway to the solution of John's disappearance."

Lestrade blinked into the phone "sorry, come again?"

Mycroft sighed "to put it simply Gregory, it would appear that Sherlock's adult state is overtaking his child-like state."

"Wait, you mean that his adult brain is functioning in a child's body?" Lestrade gasped.

"To an extent Gregory. Sherlock won't realise that this is the case, and his thoughts will emerge as a seemingly psychotic episode. You might remember several weeks ago how I gave Sherlock an injection to alter his nightmares induced by his Mind Palace?"

Lestrade replied that he had, remembering John's account of the episode.

"What you have described situates another opening in the brain. Another reformation of Sherlock's adult abilities" Mycroft explained "it would appear that they take hold when Sherlock is placed in a stressful or degrading situation-on this occasion caused by John's disappearance."

"So, child-Sherlock is deducing the same way his adult counterpart would?" Lestrade questioned.

"It would appear so" Mycroft replied "Sherlock's brain will be hypersensitive in this time of stress."

"Do you think..."Lestrade asked "that he could help us work out what happened to John?"

"It's entirely possible" Mycroft nodded "by I wouldn't count on all of the information being sufficient, or even transmitted."

"It's worth a shot" Lestrade replied "anything that will help us bring John back."

"Seeing as your attacker was stupid enough to thrust his weapon straight into the scene of the crime, I severely doubt that this case will prove difficult" Mycroft answered "however, I insist upon coming down and supervising this. With Sherlock's brain reacting as it is, he is-to an extent-a walking time bomb. I will need to keep an eye on him for the remainder of this case, and I will also have to examine him afterwards to find out exactly what has caused this breakthrough reaction."

Lestrade remembered how riled up the adult Sherlock could become when he was confused. To have that form of frustration in a child chilled Lestrade to the core.

"Come over now" Lestrade replied.


End file.
